A Flawed System, A Flawed Self
by outside the crayon box
Summary: The United States of America is experiencing a disaster beyond its citizens' worst nightmares. Barricades are rising everywhere, shooting out of the ground and expelling everyone over the age of fifteen. Nobody knows the cause, and the adults do not understand how their children can behave when nobody is looking. *SYOC CLOSED*
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

"Start by doing what's necessary; then do what's possible; and suddenly you are doing the impossible."  
— St. Francis of Assisi

* * *

 **May 17, 2014**

The weather forecast proclaimed thunderstorms, but obviously those guys needed to be hit with the get-a-clue stick because they couldn't be more wrong. The sun shone brightly, illuminating vivid green grass and the glittering Mohegan Lake. The birds chirped; the trees rustled in the wind. It was truly stunning.

In other words, a beautiful day for Abel Wilde to lock his door, draw his curtains, and finally choose a damn costume for the _Bleach_ convention that would be taking place in four hours.

It wasn't like he didn't have options, either. Over the years, he'd acquired quite a collection of _Bleach_ -themed clothing, weapons, and hair dyes. But nothing was _exactly right_. And since this convention happened to be on his fifteenth birthday, he wanted it to be a good one. (And that wasn't even to mention his mother, who had been insisting that she was about to trash all his _Bleach_ memorabilia if he didn't chuck it himself, so this could well be his last chance at a perfect outfit.)

Suit jackets, sunglasses, and red wigs littered the bed. Face paints, knives, and newsboy caps lay in a pile on the floor. The poster above Abel's bed featured a digital painting of his three favorite characters: Byakuya Kuchiki, Orihime Inoue, and Michiru Ogawa. Half a year ago, he'd commissioned it from an online friend and hung it the second they'd emailed it to him.

But thinking about that damn picture wasn't going to supply him with a costume. He slumped his shoulders and considered calling Lamont — who, of course, already had a fully prepared outfit that had only cost him about ten dollars because the kid was both brilliant and creative — but he wanted to do this thing on his own.

Once again, he sifted through his stuff, pausing to finger a black eye patch (Giriko) and a bat (Ichigo). He'd cosplayed all of these people at one time or another, but none of them had been really _special_. And honestly, he was running out of decent male characters that actually appeared in the show and not just on the Wiki page.

Abel's hand was hovering over a glass katana — which was quite sharp and sturdy, considering it was marketed as 'fake' — when the idea occurred to him. He knew the one character that he had never been before.

Kensei Muguruma.

He threw open his laptop, paying little attention as the cover slammed into the wall behind his desk. After punching in his password, he clicked to Google Chrome, Bookmarks, Bleach Wikia, Kensei Muguruma, and Images. A full-body photo appeared, clearly detailing the outfit.

Abel dug through his piles, surfacing with Kensei's trademark white robe, knot belt, and soft fingerless gloves under metal gauntlets. Underneath he slipped on a pair of black Kevlar jeans and steel-tipped combat boots. The katana was tucked into the belt. He knew it wasn't his best effort, but there simply wasn't much more he could do. Time was running out.

He was forcing the rest of the stuff into the back of his closet when the dye suddenly broke out of his grip, rolled across the floor, bumped into the bookcase, and knocked over a stack of comic books. In a flash, Abel noticed that it was a grayish blue hue, almost the exact color of Kensei's hair. There was a list of instructions on the container, but he didn't have the time for that.

Abel raced to the bathroom, grabbing a sheet from the linen closet as he passed. He pulled the door closed, tucked the cloth over his shoulders, and brushed out the tangles in his hair. Then he yanked gloves out of a cabinet and yanked the nozzle off the dye. Not bothering to separate his hair into chunks, nor apply a light coat of water, he sprayed evenly until half the liquid was gone.

He didn't even bother to look in the mirror before shouting for his mother to drive him to his convention.

* * *

 **May 17, 2014**

There was a boy standing in front of Lexi Fox. She wasn't sure when he'd arrived, but that was how these kinds of things went. If someone was right there, you used them and then you let them go. At least, that was her way of dealing with it.

"Cigarette?" he offered, and from his voice she could tell he was a junior, one of her brother's crazy friends. (But she didn't have to let him know that she recognized him.)

Instead, Lexi smirked. Anyone who knew her could tell immediately that her expression was phony, that when one corner of her mouth turned up higher than the other it meant she was faking it. (That wasn't important.) "Please."

He flicked the lighter and passed one over. "You wanna go outside before we set the place on fire?"

He just wanted to be alone with her; there were plenty of people smoking inside. But she shrugged anyway. "Why not?" (It was a question, and she did expect an answer, but he had no way of figuring that out.)

"Come on then." His words were muffled. He grabbed her hand. The world tilted in slow motion as Lexi followed him outside, past the gaggles of girls who she knew would be gossiping about her (that wasn't anything new), past the flock of boys who craned their necks to eyeball her ass (neither was that), past all the idiots who had nothing better to do than judge (neither had Lexi, before; that was why she'd started drinking, at least it was something new).

"So what's your name?" she called behind her, sliding the screen door open.

"Mike," he said. "I would ask yours, but I already know it."

"I'm sure you do." She maneuvered him onto a chair, then flopped onto his lap. (God, it didn't take much to heat 'em up these days, did it?) "But I'll tell you anyway, if you want."

He grabbed Lexi's hips. "Stop moving, Little Fox."

"Little Fox? Is that what all you upperclassmen know me as? Do you call Mason Big Fox?"

"I'm the big fox in these parts," he returned. (Well, if _that_ wasn't the worst line she'd ever heard . . . )

"Mmm," she replied, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Are you ever planning on kissing me, or are we gonna talk for the rest of the night?"

::

Music was blasting, and there was a cup of spiked punch in her hand, and some guy had just dragged Lexi Fox onto the porch — actually, come to think of it, _Lexi_ had kind of been dragging _him_ — which really should have awarded her with prime gossip points except that her so-called friends were probably too drunk to care. Sawyer Braxton rolled her eyes at the group of sophomores surrounding her. Petty, obnoxious bitches.

That's not to say that Sawyer wasn't a petty, obnoxious bitch herself, but she liked to think that she was more subtle about it. And at least _she_ wasn't too drunk to function at a party like this, which was supposed to end before dawn and had instead continued to the present time, an estimated three hours after the sun had risen.

" _Drink_ , Sawyer!" one of the girls — Kara, Clara, or something like that; Sawyer hadn't been able to hear her over the repeating bass of Primadonna Girl — insisted. "Why don't you ever have _fun_?"

"I'm having a lot of fun, thank you," she answered coldly. "I prefer to be aware of the situation."

"She prefers to be _aware_ ," mocked Kara/Clara with a high-pitched giggle. "Did you hear that, Kelly? Why would you wanna be aware when you could be _drunk_?"

 _Because I have actual fears of getting wasted and passing out and being raped on the floor, and also all my real friends aren't here so I have to hang out with you idiots, and I'm not even sure if they're actually my real friends because if I'm honest they probably just hang around with me because it makes them look good and I give them expensive birthday presents on top of it._ "Ugh. Maybe I _should_ drink something."

"That's the spirit!" Kelly, if that was indeed her name, grinned, exposing straight white teeth. Westchester was the type of place where every kid received braces at adolescence and a new car at seventeen. "Chug!"

The rest of them picked up the chant, shouting and clapping, clothes and hair flying. They were all beautiful girls, but they had never looked more ugly. At that moment, Sawyer knew that she would never make a mess of herself the way they had. She let the cup slip out of her hands and turned away.

She enjoyed many things — shopping sprees and classy dinners and Diane von Furstenburg dresses, to name a few — but being addicted to alcohol before she'd really even started high school was not on the list.

"I'll see you all at school Monday."

::

There was nothing Aisha Bahirah loved more than dance. (Except control, especially over others, but that was a different story entirely.)

For as long as she could remember, she'd been enrolled in classes at Darcy's School of Movement and Grace, the most prestigious studio in the state. She'd been the captain of their junior competition team for two years, and was granted three solos in eight months, even though roles like that were only ever given to juniors and seniors. Quite successful, in her opinion.

Unfortunately, she couldn't really dance without risking the unwinding of her hijab. And there was no way on Allah's Earth that she would allow her head covering to slip off in the presence of anyone who was attending this party.

So her new solution was to secure the scarf as tightly as she could, then wear a silver crown she'd picked up at Party City for ten dollars. With that, Aisha felt like the princess of dance, and she was.

She could feel the guys watching her as she shimmied with her girls, had a feeling they were objectifying her, knew she had to put a stop to it, and honestly didn't care. If any of them dared to whistle at her, or say a word, or make a move, she could break their noses. And they were well aware of that fact. After all, she'd done it before.

Aisha was the resident freshman bully, and she was damn proud of it. In just a year and a half, she had risen from a nobody to one of the most popular people in her class — whether it was for a good reason or not was debatable, though — despite her young age, her gender, and her religion.

Basically, she was living proof that you could be anything you wanted, and fuck them all.

In fact, that was her motto.

* * *

 **So, talk to me! What did you think of the chapter? The characters? The writing style?**

 **Remember, a quality review, a follow, or a favorite will let me know that you care about your character. And even if you haven't submitted, please do some of these anyway! I'll basically just stare at my screen and smile awkwardly because I'll be so happy.**

 **Joyana**

 _ **( 7 / 7 / 2015 )**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"Obstacles are put in our way to see if what we want is really worth fighting for."  
— Anonymous

* * *

 **May 17, 2014**

"How was it, **アベル**?" Ayako Wilde's eyes flicked to the rearview mirror so she could smile at her son. He was the only one in the family who could understand the basic Japanese that often slipped into her English, and for that she adored him.

"Lots of fun, Mom," Abel responded absentmindedly, struggling to untie the complicated knot in his belt. "And before you can ask, Lamont made a great Byakuya. I told him if he stopped by later, you'd give him some of my birthday cookies."

Ayako's eyes glittered. "I'd _love_ to give him some of my cookies."

"Mom!" Abel reached forward to tug a lock of her shiny black hair. "You can't say things like that! You are _forty-two_. You are _married_. Lamont is _off limits_. I can't make this any clearer."

"But Lamont is **魅力的な男** ," she insisted, reaching to smooth the tangles. From behind, someone beeped their car horn. Both her hands flew back to the steering wheel to guide the white Impala back into its correct lane.

"I don't care how _charming_ he is." Abel leaned down to loosen the laces of his combat boots. "He's my cousin _and_ my best friend. You do not get to _fantasize_ about him!"

"Don't be _silly_! I'm just . . . _thinking_." Ayako smiled, but then appeared serious. "Honestly, **きみ** , do you _truly_ think I would chase after Lamont?"

"Who knows," he replied warily. "Oh! Turn here, Mom. I need to drop this katana off at Jack's house; I've been putting it off for ages. I guess it was a good thing, though, since it came in use today and all."

Ayako slowed at the stop sign, then flipped on her right indicator. The obnoxious clacking of the signal echoed as she waited for an opportunity to merge into traffic. There was an unusual line of cars winding down Rose Street.

And then she was gone.

The poof was faster than what they'd discussed in class — ever since America's second barrier had encircled a small area of Kansas City, it had become federal law for children to be taught what to do in case something similar (that was the phrase people used, _something similar_ , as though there was an actual situation that would be remotely alike) happened to them — but Abel recognized the symptoms nonetheless. The local adult had disappeared in the blink of an eye, the sky seemed to be reflected at an angle, and any vehicles that were previously moving in a straight line had taken the opportunity to play some pretty rad bumper cars.

Mostly, however, it was a crushing panic in Abel's chest.

He would turn fifteen in four minutes, and he literally could not remember whether he was supposed to survive the poof. The snatch. The big one-five. Whatever you called it, it meant a disappearance. But he wasn't sure if a reappearance was in order afterwards.

 _Shit._ Why the _fuck_ hadn't he listened when the teacher had explained? _Why_ did he think Behind The Wall II was a waste of a class? What the _hell_ had he been thinking when he'd flipped through _Bleach_ comics instead of focusing?

Abel wracked his brain for any information he could recall. But the few bits of knowledge that had somehow lodged in his mind were of no use. _Shit._

Okay. Think. At least the car was already stopped. He grabbed the fallen katana, and clad himself in Kensei's robe and belt. Then he pushed open the door and raced towards Jack's place.

* * *

 **May 17, 2014**

Reva Sahni _hated_ movie theaters. She also hated crowds, films, actors, actresses, and celebrities in general. And at the moment, she kind of hated Michael Benson for dragging her there.

Then again, it _was_ a little hard to be mad at him when he had one arm around her shoulders and the other hand holding hers.

Blearily, Reva watched Elizabeth Olsen tear across the screen, chasing someone or the other (probably a guy, but who could tell anymore). "How much longer is this?" she moaned irritably.

Michael checked his watch. "Half an hour," he answered. "Come on, Reva, Godzilla can't be _that_ boring. Look at _that_!"

Reva presumed he was talking about the skyscraper that had just collapsed and crushed about a dozen people into bits. "Mmm."

"Not _that_." He pointed across the aisle, where his father had been sitting not five seconds before. " _That._ They're gone!"

"What?" Reva's head whipped around. "Who?"

"The adults." Michael scanned the theater. There were a fair amount of children, most in various states of panic, but absolutely nobody who appeared to be over fifteen. "A barrier's up somewhere, Reva."

She grabbed his hand. "This is our chance."

His eyes narrowed. "Huh?"

" _Power._ For _us_. Like Caine and Sam. Remember, we learned about them? Sam got to be the _mayor_ of Perdido Beach. And Caine was _king_. Well, before he died, anyway."

"Yeah, Reva. He _died_. You really want to make yourself a target? You get power, they'll blame you for every little thing that goes wrong. You'll be killed within a week, I guarantee it."

She crossed her arms. "It's not like they _assassinated_ him, Michael. He gave himself up for a noble cause. _He's_ the reason their wall disappeared. There should be King Caine day, and we'd get a week off school for it."

"Didn't do the rest of us much good, did he?" Michael grumbled. "A Westchester barrier sets a record, you know. Seven up at once. Soon they're going to be everywhere, and the adults are gonna have to be poofed into the ocean."

Reva stifled a laugh, imagining her parents flailing around in the Atlantic. But thinking about her mother and father reminded her of her siblings. "Shit, Michael."

"What?" He squeezed her hand. "It's okay. Calm down. We'll be okay. All the walls drop in the end."

"Wise advice," she quipped, rolling her eyes. "But seriously, what about the kids?"

"If you really want to be in control, you can't be worried about every child in the place. That Caine who you love so much made tons of sacrifices. Didn't he break all the bones of that girl he got pregnant?"

" _No._ He didn't have sex with _Penny_. He loved _Diana_. Didn't you ever listen in class?"

"I'm pretty sure Mr. Manson never mentioned which one Caine was in love with, Reva. I kinda assumed he was doing them all."

"Michael!" Reva slapped his wrist. "Listen, we have two things to do. Get my brothers and sisters, and take over before anyone else manages to regroup."

He picked up his wallet and stood. "Why do you care so much, Reva? Didn't you read that speech Sam Temple made about how much being in charge sucked for him?"

"But it was good at times, too! Everyone had to listen to him, and Albert too, or they just didn't eat. That's . . . can you _imagine_?"

"I'm not sure I want to. You're gonna get us killed. Remember how those Human Crew kids tried to murder Sam?"

"But we aren't freaks," Reva said.

"How do you know? Some people don't discover their powers until later."

She twisted to the side, stretching the muscles in her back. "I'm just pretty sure. Let's go get my siblings, and we'll talk about it, okay?"

"You live five miles away. You really wanna walk that far?" Although Michael was supportive and decently popular, he would never win Most Athletic.

"What, are we going to leave them to starve?" Reva snapped, already marching up the aisle. "Come on, before they freak out and run away from the house. Champa and Anju are probably out with friends — God knows my sisters are allergic to the word responsibility — but I have no clue where the boys would go if they left."

Michael ran a hand through his sandy hair. "Okay. Relax. I'll do what you want about the power and all that crap. But if you get us murdered, Reva, I swear to God that I will kill you. Clear?"

She beamed. "Love you."

Affectionately, he caressed her waist. "Yeah, yeah. Love you too."

* * *

 **May 17, 2014**

The watch on Abel's wrist read 7:15 P.M.

The fluorescent numbers blinked as they teased him, counting down the seconds to his probable doom. God, _why_ couldn't he remember whether he was supposed to take the damn poof? He really should have paid some fucking attention, considering he was about to turn fifteen.

But he knew why: he thought he would always be safe, that something like this couldn't possibly happen to _him_ , to _his_ town.

Abel forced himself to run faster. The sign reading Thompson Court was about thirty feet away, if he had to guess, and Jack's home was the third on the left. Or was it the right? It was blue, he knew that.

He turned on Thompson and continued sprinting, scanning houses as he whipped past. About halfway down the road, he came across an azure two-story. That had to be Jack's.

He leaned on the bell with one hand and pounded with the other. "Jack! _Jack!_ Come on, dude! Answer the fucking door!"

Kids were beginning to poke their heads out of other windows, peering down at Abel's tall figure. Eventually, a girl shouted, "Look, is there something you need?"

"I don't know if you've noticed, but the wall's gone up, people! Better grab as much food as you can and hide out until it's over!" Abel yelled back.

"Doesn't explain what you're doing here," mumbled someone else. The kid was about twelve, with a mop of blond hair and heavy-lidded eyes. This was clearly his turf, and he didn't want a teenager intruding.

"I . . . " Abel's watch beeped. 7:18. "Hey! Do you know if you sur — "

But before he could finish the ultimate question, the world faded from view and Abel's father showed up, just as the teacher had said he would.

"Hey, dude." Mr. Wilde — or his hologram, anyway — grinned. "Fifteen, right? Big birthday. Come and celebrate with us, kiddo." He beckoned with a large hand.

Abel glanced around as his dad moved closer. "Do I live if I go with you? Will I stay alive?"

"Of course!" He smirked as though his son's question was completely ridiculous. "Why wouldn't you?"

He wasn't sure, but he had a gut feeling that this was the wrong answer. "Sorry, Dad. I have to stay. There's important stuff going on here, you know."

Mr. Wilde's eyes glowed red. "You are being very stupid, son."

Abel took two steps backward, then turned to run. He hadn't even started moving when he crashed onto the concrete pavement.

"Well, that was pretty cool," said the blond kid, offering his hand to help Abel up. "What just happened? You have epilepsy or somethin'?"

He shook his head. "I said no to the poof, I think."

"Interesting." He regarded Abel critically. "I'm Ethan. What's your name?"

He glanced at his combat boots and Kevlar gloves, then down at the katana at his belt. "I am Kensei."

* * *

 **How was it?** **I tried to put some more dialogue into this one, so you could get a feel for the characters. And I know I didn't introduce many, but there will be a bunch more coming. I'm so sorry if your characters haven't been included yet, please don't be mad.**

 **I hope there was at least a little suspense; I was going for some worry and uncertainty but not panic at this point. Did I get it right?**

 **Reviews with actual information in them will make me happy and remind me that you care about your character. Reviews where you answer my questions and comment on the writing style will let me know that you care about the story as a whole. Please, it takes ten seconds to review and I smile so big that I embarrass myself.**

 **I am going away to camp early Sunday morning, so there won't be another update until I get back in two weeks, but I will try to post a chapter almost immediately after.**

 **Joyana**

 _ **( 7 / 10 / 2015 )**_


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"Dissent is the highest form of patriotism."  
— Thomas Jefferson

* * *

 **May 17, 2014**

The bitter tang of beer and cigarettes wafted through the basement, clogging Sawyer's pores and clinging to her blonde bob. Her BCBG skirt was going to reek for days, although she knew the maids wouldn't ask questions. But the most annoying part of it all was still those stupid sophomores, particularly Kara/Clara. The older girl had only gotten her permit two weeks ago, but she'd promised to be the designated driver.

Unfortunately, she — along with the dozens of other teenagers attending — was currently passed out on a stained couch, snoring, one arm thrown over her mouth.

Sawyer glanced out the window, wondering whether calling her mother's chauffeur was a decent idea. Alejandro was reliable, sure, but he would also be all too likely to tell Mrs. Braxton the story. And she didn't need yet _another_ lecture on the different ways alcohol could ruin a woman's body.

Somewhere in the distance, a police siren roared. Absentmindedly, she wondered whether they'd caught her mom speeding again. Mrs. Braxton was constantly in a hurry, and getting a ticket was yet another piece of gossip for the magazines, especially since they'd already exhausted their supply of _Anastasia Cheats On Husband_ and _Custody Battle: Which Parent Will End Up With Darling Sawyer?_

As though she was some sort of prize to be won. And her parents weren't even considering divorce anyway.

The sirens were much closer; the volume was rising. She craned her neck against the basement window, wondering where they were headed. She only realized that the police were busting this party when they slammed their brakes on thirty feet in front of her nose.

Sawyer had to get her ass out of there. If they got wind of this, the tabloids would have a fucking field day, and her mother would kill her. As in, graves and flowers and candles on the sidewalk _murder_.

But she couldn't very well leave the rest of them to go under. They'd never forgive that kind of bullshit, and too many of her fellow students already detested her.

"Hey!" she screamed, grabbing an empty bottle of beer and smashing it against the wall. A few heads turned. "Cops!"

Now more people sat up and looked around. Some even had the presence of mind to throw pillows off their laps and slip their cups under the couch. They joined the chant. "Cops! Cops! Cops!"

"Shit!" Kara/Clara grabbed her phone and spotted Sawyer. "Come on! Grab the rest of the girls!"

Sawyer glanced back outside — two uniforms were crossing the manicured lawn — and then scrambled after Kara/Clara, wildly tapping the other planned passengers on their shoulders as she raced past. "Get up! We're driving you home! Get _up_!"

About three had the presence of mind to follow; the rest stirred too slowly, and Sawyer was gone.

It was a damn good thing Kara/Clara knew where the back exit was, because the cops were pounding on the front door as they escaped into the yard.

"Let's go!" Sawyer whispered, leading the rest towards Scenic Drive, where she knew the car was waiting. Kara/Clara sprinted ahead, waving her remote controller to unlock the doors. The girls piled in, and Kara/Clara pounded the gas pedal, guiding her SUV onto Route 6.

"That was close," moaned Kelli, massaging her temple. "God, I'm gonna have a headache into the next millennium."

"Don't get so drunk then," spat an Asian girl whose name Sawyer had completely failed to catch.

"Says _you_ ," replied Kara/Clara, twisting around to face the backseat. "How many wine coolers did _you_ have, Nuo?"

"Eyes on the road!" Sawyer hollered. She was _not_ getting away from the police just to die in a car accident minutes later.

Kara/Clara rolled her eyes, but turned to face front, accidentally jerking the steering wheel to the left as she did. The SUV careened into a ditch, and Sawyer screamed.

It took her about ten seconds to realize she was the only one making noise. Cautiously, she opened her eyes. Almost directly to her left was the opaque barrier of her nightmares.

She was stuck here, and she was alone.

* * *

 **May 17, 2014**

Aisha had no qualms about shouting and shoving as she sprinted through the basement and up the back stairs. If her father (or, God forbid, her _mother_ ) found out that she was at a _party_ , with _alcohol_ , she'd be sent away from her respectable Bedford school and to a boarding academy. It wouldn't matter one bit that she hadn't drunk a single sip.

"Move, will you?" she hissed at an umbrella stand as she accidentally kicked it over. Loud and clear were the policemen's voices as they stomped through the foyer, getting closer and closer . . .

Aisha crashed through the doorway and into the blazing hot yard. The grass, despite the watering hose attached to the house, was parched and yellow. There was a tall white picket fence separating the lawn from the woods beyond, and no gate.

This was great. Never in a million years would she retreat into that house, but unless she wanted to scale the twelve foot fence and run straight into the trees, there didn't seem to be another option. "You've gotta be kidding me."

"Who are you talking to?" someone said loudly, right before they smashed into Aisha's back, gripping her shoulders so as not to fall.

She screamed and shook the person loose. "Watch where you're _going_."

"Sorry. Maybe you shouldn't stand right in the doorway."

Aisha was so used to people cringing and cowering when she snapped at them that this girl's nonchalant tone took her completely by surprise. She spun around. "Who are _you_?"

She crossed her arms. "I feel like this isn't the best time for introductions. There's a hole in the fence over there. Kind of a tight squeeze, but," she scanned Aisha quickly, "I feel like you can make it." She took off, skirting a cracked birdbath and coming to a stop in the corner, prying apart two white boards. "It would be nice if you could help."

"Sorry." Aisha pushed until hers bent. "Oh God. Oops."

"No, that's the hole. It goes back into place after a couple of minutes. As long as this was the right spot." She shrugged. "Oh well."

"Where exactly are we going?" Aisha demanded. "Do you have a plan or something?"

The girl shrugged a shoulder, looking supremely unconcerned. " _I_ have a plan. I didn't realize you expected to be invited."

Aisha rolled her eyes. "Can you cut it out? I'm coming with you. I don't know this neighborhood at all."

She seemed pleased to have gained the upper hand. "I'm Lexi Fox. You?"

"Aisha Bahirah."

Lexi nodded. "I've heard of you, you know. Didn't you get suspended from Fox Lane for bitching about that girl until she lost her shit and punched you?"

"Actually, _she_ got suspended. I got let off with a warning." Delicately, Aisha pursed her lips.

Lexi rolled her eyes. She despised people who egged others on, then took no blame. There were an unfortunate number of those in her own school, and she didn't need to deal with this girl too. "Great. So I'll see you around, I guess."

"Oh, don't be like that." Aisha pouted. "Take me with you. Please. At least ask one of your parents to drive me home."

"I guess I can do _that_. It wouldn't be fair to leave a poor little _child_ all alone." She grimaced.

"Oh _please_ ," Aisha shot back as they jogged across the consecutive backyards. "Because _you've_ never gossiped about anyone. Most girls don't go psycho and smack you in the middle of the cafeteria."

"I don't do that shit anymore." Lexi pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her pocket.

"So you do _that_ instead." Aisha glared at the lighter sticking out of the girl's bra.

"It's a lot healthier than spending all your time obsessing over other bitches. You want one?"

"No thanks. _I_ don't do that stuff." She put her hand on her hip as she followed Lexi, who was now cutting across someone's garden. They'd clearly put effort into it: their flowers bloomed bright pink, purple, and gold; their bushes were pruned to perfection. "Maybe we should head over to the road. We're far enough from the party."

"No point. Rose's house is right here." Lexi nodded towards a small blue home. There was a gazebo out back, where a family was sitting and chatting. "Shoot. They're in the middle of one of their ridiculous meetings."

"Who the heck is Rose? And what meetings?"

"Her name is Rosalind Gicare. She goes to my school, you won't know her. And they do this thing once a month where they all sit down and yell at each other. Well, they _say_ it's a _discussion_ about their _thoughts_ and _feelings_ , but it always turns into a screaming match. Most things do when Mrs. Gicare is involved."

Aisha nodded like she knew what Lexi was talking about. "'Kay."

"We can probably just go in the front and wait for Rose in her room." Lexi glanced at Aisha. "She'll just _love_ dealing with you."

"Hopefully she's at least _nice_ about it. Unlike _some_ people I could mention."

Lexi blinked her heavy-lidded eyes. "Save it, and come in before I slam the door in your face."

* * *

 **May 17, 2014**

It took Saywer a few minutes to collect her wits. Once she was sure that there were no more screams in her sore throat, she opened the car door and dropped onto the ground. The ditch she was standing in was actually the corner of an old parking lot for an abandoned elementary school. Across from her, there was a Wallauer's and a nail salon. And to the left, there was that awful barrier.

Briefly, she wondered if it was worth texting her friends. But she knew from class that there was no signal behind the wall, and seeing that little red exclamation point would hurt her more than not trying in the first place.

There was no way she could survive here with no one by her side; she had to find her girls. But she couldn't walk all the way from here back to the good side of town. Which meant that, until somebody took charge and gathered everyone in one place and counted them up, she was stuck all alone.

In the FAYZ, Sam Temple had proclaimed himself mayor. Or maybe someone else had done it, but same difference. Sam was in total control, and he had tons of thugs to back him up, plus the fact that he could shoot light from his hands. The only thing Sawyer could do was shapeshift. Which was interesting and kind of funny when she felt like looking older or prettier or like a celebrity, but it wouldn't really help here. And she was the boss of her _school_ , not the entire county of Westchester.

 _Unless . . ._ An idea popped into her head. It wasn't brave, or noble, and she certainly wouldn't have Sam's influence or reliability. But maybe this could be first-come first-serve. Maybe _she_ would just put _herself_ in charge. And the easiest way to do that would be via the county's PA system. All schools, emergency stations (such as fire departments and hospitals), plus most houses had them installed. The idea behind it was that if Indian Point (the nuclear plant half an hour away) exploded, someone important would make a quick announcement that could be heard everywhere in Westchester, and then they'd all flee. But the speakers were connected by power lines, not cellular data. Which meant that they were probably still usable. And the county office was only three blocks away. Sawyer could be there in ten minutes or less if she started moving now.

She could see curious kids poking their heads out of windows and doorways. Even the preschool down the street had curious toddlers flowing out to gather on the front stoop. The younger ones were already crying; the four and five year olds just looked confused, some verging on desperate. Every time she saw another bewildered child stumbling into the road, it convinced her that she was doing the right thing.

Unnecessarily, Sawyer took the time to look left and right before jogging over the crosswalk. When she arrived at the Westchester Building, she pulled open the heavy glass doors, rushed through the metal detector, and paused before the bank of elevators. She knew that electricity was still on, and the companies outside of the barrier would likely do their best to keep it that way. Unless someone made a damn good effort to shut it off, there wouldn't be a problem. Yet she was nervous to be in that box by herself.

Shuddering, she turned towards the stairs, taking them two at a time up to the fourth floor. She knew that was where the supervisor worked because she'd visited him on a field trip in eighth grade. The door to the office was wide open, the receiver of the landline on the floor where it had probably been dropped during the adults' poof.

And sure enough, the PA speaker. It looked decently easy to use; there was one green button, clearly labeled 'announcement' and a device through which to speak. But there was something about the whole business that made Sawyer want to hold back. It just felt wrong.

But then again, this entire situation was wrong. She picked up the mouthpiece and pressed the button, pushing it down until it beeped. She heard the collective click of the speakers attached to the building. When she spoke, the words sounded foreign.

"Hello, everyone." Whoa. Her voice was dangerously high. She took a deep breath and pitched deeper. "My name is Sawyer Braxton and I . . . I would like to make an announcement." She was practically stuttering. Why the hell was she so nervous? At school, she talked more than everyone else combined, and she was fine. She could see the kids outside, but none of them were chatting. This was her only chance to make a good impression, because if it didn't work she would be laughed at for the rest of her life. She swallowed and cleared her throat. "I'm . . . I've seen . . . There are a lot of panicking, stranded children right now and we need to start taking care of them. There are also babies to watch and food to collect and fights that I'm sure will occur. So we need to be vigilant and strong and watch out for each other. To that end, I'm declaring myself mayor of Westchester during this . . . this time. If anyone has a problem with that, then come talk to me at the county supervisor's office on the fourth floor of the Westchester Building. I'll be here until," she checked her silver Gucci watch, "nine o'clock tonight." She trailed off, then remembered to add a conclusion. All her teachers told her that she never wrapped anything up properly. "That's all. Thank you, guys. And girls. And everyone in between. Have a good day, and if there are any issues, come to me!"

* * *

 **May 17, 2014**

Even from their spots in Rosalind's room, Aisha and Lexi could hear the pounding footsteps downstairs. There were two sets: one that sounded like a teenage girl and another that was accompanied by barking.

"There she is. With Baxter."

Aisha frowned. "Why's she running around her house?"

Lexi crinkled her long nose. "Who knows why people do anything?"

"Yeah, yeah. Really deep." Aisha coughed. "Listen, can you go get her up here? I need to be driven home. Unless she has her permit, which would be extremely nice."

"No, she's fourteen too." Lexi raised her voice. "Hey, Rosalind?"

"What the fuck? Who's there?" came a shout from down the steps.

"It's Lexi; I'm up in your room with Aisha!"

"Who's Aisha?" Rosalind was climbing the stairs now, her panting dog trailing behind her bony form.

"Me!" The Arab girl waggled her fingers, turning on the charm, to Lexi's obvious disgust. "I'm Aisha Bahirah. I'm so sorry I just showed up in your house; Lexi and I were at a party and the cops came so we kinda ran and now we're here."

Rosalind's amber eyes widened. "Wow. Alright! It's good to meet you, Aisha. And hi, Lex."

Lexi couldn't help grinning at her friend. "Hey, Rose. I think _Aisha_ over here just said it all, but I really am sorry to just show up."

The smile melted off the blonde's face. "I don't mind that at all. But there's kind of an issue going on."

"What?" Lexi immediately wrapped Rosalind in a hug. "Is it your mom again, Rose?"

"Sort of." For once in her life, she was totally dry-eyed. "She's gone."

"Like, she left your dad?" Lexi exclaimed, shocked. "But I just saw you all outside."

"No. They poofed. I . . . I think the barrier's up!" She was trying to sound nervous, but excitement showed instead. "God, I hate to say this, but it's nice without them. It's only been five minutes and I feel better than I have all year, I think."

"I'm happy for you." Lexi patted her on the back, and Aisha turned her head away. Clearly, they had an actual, intimate friendship. Although that should have been obvious already, considering that Lexi had thought it was totally okay to just barge into the Gicares' house alone and uninvited, without even saying hi first.

As Lexi and Rosalind were wiggling out of their hug, a noise boomed from a speaker, and all three girls jumped.

"What the fuck?" Lexi whirled around.

"It's the PA. Mom got it installed a couple of months ago." Rosalind pointed at the black device on her bold indigo wall. "Maybe it's the adults broadcasting through the dome."

"Actually, it's really a bubble. Astrid Ellison talked about it during her big interview. She's a brilliant scientist now, on a highly prestigious team that — "

Quickly, Lexi cut Aisha off. "It's not possible to send waves through the wall anyway. Don't you think they would have done it already?"

"Well, maybe someone figured it out," Rosalind pouted.

"Shut _up_ ," Aisha ordered, gesturing wildly at the receiver. "There's a person talking."

The girls tuned back in as the announcer murmured, "There are also babies to watch and food to collect and fights that I'm sure will occur. So we need to be vigilant and strong and watch out for each other. To that end, I'm declaring myself mayor of Westchester during this . . . this time. If anyone has a problem with that, then come talk to me at the county supervisor's office on the fourth floor of the Westchester Building. I'll be here until . . . nine o'clock tonight." There was a long pause. "That's all. Thank you, guys. And girls. And everyone in between. Have a good day, and if there are any issues, come to me!"

"That sounds just like Sawyer," Aisha mumbled disbelievingly.

"Doesn't Anastasia Braxton have a kid named Sawyer?" Rosalind wanted to know.

"One and the same," Aisha replied. "Also known as the ultimate bitch of Fox Lane High School. Leader of every girl who think she's all that. Sawyer drives me _crazy_."

"Did she really just proclaim herself mayor?" Lexi echoed. "That can't possibly be a thing."

Aisha laughed bitterly. "She'll last three days, tops, before she's killed. She's an absolute _brat_. In fact, she'll probably commit suicide the second her precious nail polish starts chipping."

Lexi held out a hand and winked. "Would you care to make a bet?"

"Shh," Rosalind said, stepping between them. "Look, if you care that much, she did say that anyone who had a problem could go see her at the county supervisor's office and she would talk to them."

"There is no way I'm negotiating with _Sawyer Braxton_." Aisha crossed her arms. "Absolutely not."

"I won't go by myself," Rosalind mumbled. "She sounds obnoxious, but I don't even know her. I'll go with you, though, Lex, if you want to."

Lexi bit her lip. "I don't need Sawyer as mayor, but I sure don't want to be in charge. I say wait until one of the freaks usurps her. There have gotta be kids with powers. Other than me, I mean."

"And me," Rosalind added. "I have abnormally fast reflexes, I think."

"I have something too. I know it's there, but I haven't really figured out what it is yet," Aisha responded thoughtfully.

"That's how they should start predicting barriers!" Rosalind exclaimed. "Once kids start showing evidence of mutations, they should tell someone and then we could all get out of the way of the wall so no one gets caught in it."

"What if the wall — sorry, Aisha, the _bubble_ — follows the mutations, though?" Lexi wondered.

Aisha considered it. "I don't know. I feel like the powers pop up when the wall is about to come. I can't quite explain it, but I feel like the bubble wouldn't move to follow. But the powers . . . they're _part_ of it . . . It couldn't possibly be solved by just leaving. Maybe we'd just draw up spontaneous barriers anywhere we'd go . . . I just . . . "

"Great," Lexi quipped. "Thanks for that wonderful speech. So much help, truly."

Again, Rosalind played peacemaker, this time by clearing her throat. "Don't fight, you guys. I think we'd better stick together, and we don't need you two going at it all the time. What can we be doing instead?"

Lexi burst out laughing. "You sound like an elementary school teacher, Rose."

Aisha made eye contact with Rosalind. "Let's round up all the food in this place, and then we can head to Lexi's house and do the same thing. You live around here, right?"

"Yeah," Lexi replied. "You wanna grab a car and drive it to my place before our glorious Sawyer puts limits on gas?"

"What, and crash us into a tree?" Aisha teased. "No thanks, guys. I want to stay alive with you for a while."

"That was the cheesiest thing I've ever heard," Lexi announced, but she was smiling, her blue eyes warm and light.

* * *

 **May 17, 2014**

Holly Sharma dashed up the last hill to her house. It was nice and spacious, with clear clean windows and a nice coat of white paint. Everything was different from her old **सदन** back in India. But it was most definitely home. _America_ was home.

She was so focused on her magenta front door that she didn't even see her neighbor until she ran into her.

"Shit!" Holly screamed. "Oh my God, Reva. I'm so sorry."

"Yeah," Reva panted. "It's totally fine; I wasn't looking either. I have to get my brothers. Have you seen them, Holly?"

The people in the United States couldn't pronounce her family's Indian names, so Hansini was widely known as Holly. It didn't bother her; she liked when they thought she was American. Though she did slightly envy Reva; although the other girl also had a traditional Hindi name, she'd gotten to keep hers.

"I haven't," Holly replied sadly.

Reva exhaled. "I really do hope they're still in the house, then. Do you want to come check with me?"

Holly glanced at her own place. The only thing she was particularly worried about was her cat; from what she knew, her parents and brother were safely situated just beyond the barrier, and her sister was still in India. She smiled at Reva. "Sure. I've got a minute."

"By the way," Reva remarked as they plodded down, "did you hear Sawyer's announcement?"

"Don't tell me you mean Sawyer Braxton." Holly clenched her fists. "She's evil and I don't want to hear anything about her."

Reva was alarmed. "Well, I hate to say it, but you'll probably want me to tell you about this. She's mayor while this whole thing is going on."

"Who would ever elect her as mayor? She's a fucking piece of shit."

Reva glanced sideways. "What did she do to you?"

"She's just . . . . I can't talk about this, Reva. But suffice it to say that she is _the_ most racist person I've ever met in my life. That fourth grade teacher who thought it was acceptable to call every child of color in my class the n-word — even me, and how could you possibly mistake me for black? — included."

Reva shuddered. "God, Holly, I'm so sorry. That's disgusting. You should have reported her."

"You want me to tell on _Sawyer Braxton_? Her mother would probably have me deported."

Reva made a repulsed face. "Her mom isn't even American. She has a green card 'cause of her husband. She was born in Russia, I think. Or Ukraine or something."

Holly cocked her head. "That's interesting news, actually. But whatever. It doesn't matter. I will not let Sawyer be our leader. She is a terrible person and I want her dead."

Reva let out a whistle as she tried her front door. When she found it was locked, she dug in her pocket for her keys. "That's pretty serious, Holly."

"I don't care. You don't go to school with her every goddamn day. You don't understand. She's turned our entire grade against me. I've never done anything to hurt her or anyone. There isn't any authority here, and there probably won't be for at least a few days. I can brain her with my hockey stick. No one will even care. I bet her fucking so-called friends will be damn glad to see her gone."

"Okay, honey." Reva wrapped her arms around Holly and held her for a long moment, rubbing her back and humming. "It's going to be alright. If you're still this angry after I get my brothers, maybe we'll head down to Sawyer's office and have a talk with her. She did say we could."

"Right, because we really need her permission," Holly spat, still holding on to Reva's arm. She couldn't understand why she so angry. Yeah, she hated Sawyer with a deep passion, but exploding on her friend wasn't fair. She took two deep breaths. "Alright. Alright. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Reva murmured. "I know you're upset, and I know why. It's good that you're calmer now, but if you feel that strongly about Sawyer, then you should go see her and say your piece."

"I'm afraid that if I look at her face, I'm just going to attack her," Holly admitted shamefully, screwing her eyes shut to ward off sobs. "You don't understand how awfully she treated me, Reva."

"Do you want to write a note, or something, and I'll give it to her?" Reva suggested.

"I can't. I'll flip out. Honestly, I bet _someone_ will get rid of her eventually; she's a menace and she'll be a terrible mayor too."

Finally, Reva got the door open. "Balavan? Gaurav? Are either of you here?"

After a moment, two young boys ran out of the living room and embraced their sister's legs. "Mommy didn't come back!" the smaller one sobbed.

"No kidding." Reva sighed. "Are Champa and Anju around?"

"No!" the older boy shouted. "And we were all by ourselves for a whole hour!" It was difficult to tell whether he was mad, worried, or pleased.

"Are you both okay?" Reva asked anxiously.

"Yes!"

"Fine. Go back to what you were doing." As they scampered back into the house, Reva glanced at Holly, who was holding back a smile. "They're crazy kids, but you gotta love 'em, right?"

"Definitely," Holly grinned.

* * *

 **Here you are, friends! I am so so sorry for not posting earlier; I got caught up in a ton of stuff. And I was actually going to write and upload on Tuesday, but the site was down.**

 **I could apologize for a thousand years because this was so late, but since that's a bit ridiculous, I decided to make the chapter twice the length instead.**

 **Please please give me a quality review, even if some of it is spent yelling at me for totally losing track of time. I want to know what you think about the characters (whether they're yours or not), and the plot, and the writing style, and the general flow. What are you feeling and thinking?**

 **Oh! If any of you would be willing to submit one more character (I only need one, and the person does have pretty specific guidelines, and they won't be used a lot, but they'll be extremely important during the few chapters in which I need them), please PM me! It would be so helpful.**

 **Once again, I apologize about the timing!**

 **Joyana**

 _ **( 9 / 3 / 2015 )**_


	4. Chapter 4

"You have enemies? Good. That means you've stood up for something, sometime in your life."  
— Winston Churchill

* * *

 **May 18, 2014**

"We only have healthy stuff," Ethan Scairth-McGill complained as he rummaged through his pantry. "No cookies, no ice cream . . . We don't even have goldfish!"

Milo Campagna, Ethan's boyfriend and his permanent partner in crime, shrugged. "At least we _have_ food. The kids in the FAYZ let everything go rotten before they even thought about collecting it at all. We're on top of things."

Ethan waved a lazy hand over a towering pile of seafood cans. "I don't know about you, but I won't be eating any of this. It's disgusting."

"I bet you'll change your mind when you're starving," Milo retorted. "But if you're sure, I'll take it back to my house and eat it all by myself."

"Be my guest," Ethan grumbled, then glanced out the window and changed the subject. "By the way, did you see where that kid went yesterday? He just took off. I hope he didn't steal someone's house. This is _my_ place."

" _Our_ place," Milo corrected firmly. It was true; they had made a blood promise the summer after fifth grade. This neighborhood belonged to them, and them only. Ethan and Milo knew it, and so did all the other kids. As far as they knew, the written vows were still in the little metal box under the oak tree in Ethan's backyard.

He would have argued with anyone else, but Ethan smiled at Milo. "Yeah. Our place."

Victoriously, Milo began gathering various packets and containers into a plastic ShopRite bag, which he stuffed into a black messenger tote. Then he moved onto the refrigerator.

"Don't take anything out of there. Nobody's gonna be cutting the power this time, and it'll all go bad if you put it somewhere else."

Milo considered. "What if somebody comes in and tries to steal it?"

"Nobody wants this stuff." Ethan grabbed a pack of lettuce and dumped it on the floor.

"Stop that! That's how the kids in the FAYZ ruined everything, Ethan. There's gonna come a time when you need that."

"I already told you — I'd rather starve."

"You're not going to be saying that when your skin is falling off your bones," Milo replied irritably.

"Oh, quit it, drama king." Ethan slung an arm over Milo's shoulders and grinned affectionately. "We'll just take some good stuff now before anyone notices. We could do it whenever Mayor Sawyer calls a town meeting, but we should probably go to that."

" _Take_ it?" Milo echoed, fuming. _"Take_ it? Like you took those video games from the brothers down the street? Like you took that ring from the girl on the school bus when it fell on the floor? Like you _took_ that enormous basket of fruit from the Greys, when you _knew_ they were going to sell it at the farmer's market later that day?"

"Fine. You don't have to come." Ethan turned away, stomping across the linoleum tiles of the kitchen floor. "There's a kid down the street who owes me a lot for giving him fifty bucks for those concert tickets that he wanted. And he _just_ left the house, so we can grab stuff from his place. It's a fair trade. You can appreciate _that_ , right?"

Milo crossed his arms. Then he ran a hand through his dark blond hair and sighed. The truth was that he couldn't have said no to Ethan if his life depended on it. " _Fine._ Let's just do it now before he comes back."

"Yes!" Ethan pumped a fist in the air. "Put that stuff down and let me grab a bat."

"A _bat_? What do you need a _bat_ for?"

"A weapon," he explained seriously. "In case someone attacks us."

"Right, because somebody's actually going to do that. This isn't the FAYZ, Ethan. Everyone knows that we have to cooperate this time."

"I'm sure there'll be the resident psychopath," Ethan responded. "And I don't want to be caught unarmed."

Milo rolled his eyes. " _Now_ who's the drama king?"

Ethan winked and picked up the bat. "Come on, Milo. Let's go already."

"Jesus," he muttered, trailing his boyfriend out the front door and down the block. It was a gorgeous day: sunny without a cloud in the bright blue sky. So far, Mayor Sawyer hadn't fucked anything up, there were no protests in the streets, and there wasn't a group of crazy evil people trying to take charge of everything. It was nice, relatively speaking.

"Right here," Ethan announced, halting in front of a modest navy blue house.

"We're not breaking in if it's locked," said Milo quickly, squeezing all the words into one short breath.

"Of course we aren't!" Ethan looked scandalized. "Mayor Sawyer said we have to be civilized. Trespassing is illegal."

Milo's thick eyebrows rose. "Well, good. That's what I wanted to hear."

Lightly, Ethan punched him in the shoulder. "I'm not a criminal, you know."

"I'm pretty sure stealing is against the law," Milo replied.

"It's the WAYS of the world, Milo." He laughed. "Get it? WAYS? It rhymes with FAYZ. The Westchester Area Youth . . . Sector!"

Milo ignored him. "I'm not helping you take stuff from this kid. You can stuff all his junk food up your ass, but I'll just be standing there. You get it, Ethan?"

"Sure, whatever." The doorknob wasn't locked; it turned easily in his hand. A minute later, they were in the kitchen. When Ethan caught sight of the two boxes of Oreos perched on the counter, he knew this had been a brilliant idea. "Do you see this stuff, Milo?"

Milo was purposely turned away. He looked around the room, taking in the cheery oak cabinets and pale yellow walls. From behind him, plastic ruffled. There was a quiet crash. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Trying to grab this thing of ice pops," Ethan answered, his voice muffled. More items toppled out of the freezer and skidded across the floor.

Milo bent to pick up a package of frozen waffles. "At least put things back where they came from."

Ethan shrugged. "He can deal with it."

"You're so laz — "

The front door creaked as it opened. "Hey, Ames! I'm back!"

"Cameron?" Somebody raced down the stairs, their feet pounding. Through the ajar door, Milo watched the silhouettes of the two kids meet in the foyer. "Holy . . . I thought you got here ten minutes ago. Someone's in the house."

"What the hell? Why would anyone want to come in here?"

"I have no idea." The girl's voice shook.

"Alright, Ames, relax. Let me go see." Footsteps moved toward the kitchen. Milo and Ethan exchanged terrified glances.

"Maybe it's a good thing I brought the bat," the brunet murmured.

"You can't just jump him the second he walks in," Milo whispered back, his eyes wide.

"I — "

The door swung open, and Cameron stepped inside, his hazel eyes darting back and forth. Ethan steadied his footing, gripped his weapon, and leaped at him. He swung, missed, heard the air whip past, and hit a chair so hard that it cracked down the middle.

"Shit!" Cameron jumped back, examining his attacker. "What the fuck are you doing in here, Ethan?" He moved to the side, finally catching sight of the bag of loot on the floor. Staring incredulously, he added, "If you wanted something, you could have just asked. Jesus Christ."

"Well, _you_ owed me fifty dollars that you never paid back." Ethan licked his lips.

"I told you I owed you a _favor_ ," Cameron said.

"Well, that's what this is." Ethan straightened, gripping the handle of the baseball bat. "You're repaying me."

"You're _twelve_ , Ethan."

"And I'm right. If you get out of here this second, I won't hurt you."

"You can't tell me what to do in my own house!" Cameron narrowed his eyes.

"You wanna bet?" Ethan snapped, swinging the bat again. This time, it caught the older boy on the hip.

Cameron doubled over, gripping his bone. "What the _fuck_ , kid? At least give me a chance."

Milo reached over to grab his boyfriend's arm. "Sto — "

Ethan shook himself free, flicking the bat hard enough that the blow landed on his enemy's thigh. Incensed and in pain, Cameron yanked open a drawer and produced a small hammer. His voice was trembling and tears hovered at the edges of his eyelashes, but the phrase was loud and relatively clear. "You still w-wanna fight, man?"

"You're really gonna hit me with that?" Ethan questioned.

"I don't think it's that much of a leap, considering you tried to kill me with that bat," Cameron answered, bracing himself but not daring to move first.

Ethan cocked his head. "Fine." And he took his stance and swung as though he was returning a fastball straight across the plate. The bat hit Cameron on the shoulder.

The latter screamed, tightened his grip on the hammer, and whacked Ethan straight on the elbow. Horribly painful, but not in any way fatal. Not like the shot Ethan had taken at his own stomach. With that thought in mind, he gritted his teeth and repeated the movement. This time, he heard a crack.

"Stop!" Milo screamed again, throwing himself at the two boys just as Ethan collapsed against the counter and slid to the floor bawling. Immediately, Cameron dropped the hammer, which fell with a thud. A second afterwards, his sister sprinted inside. She stopped so abruptly when she saw the scene that she fell into Milo, who grabbed her around the waist in support.

Cameron was openly sobbing now, his left hand covering his eyes. "Amy," he murmured, opening his arms to give his sister a hug. "You're alright, yeah?"

"I'm totally fine," she answered quickly. "What about _you_ , Cam?"

"I'm . . . " But he couldn't finish the sentence because a searing pain cut through his abdomen, and he fell to the floor, curling into a fetal position. Across from him, Milo was now cradling Ethan, trying to convince him to bend his arm.

Amy screeched, loud and long. It wasn't a word, but rather a desperate and never-ending sound. It would have shattered glass had a boy not silenced her by knocking on the window and shouting urgently, "Do you need help in there?"

"Yes!" Ethan hollered hysterically, squirming in pain. "Yes!"

"Is the front door unlocked?"

"Yes!"

A few moments later, a boy was standing in the kitchen. He was lightly tanned, with messy black hair and clear blue eyes. Quickly, he surveyed the room. "Who needs help most?"

"Me!" Ethan cried out, gripping his arm. "God, he broke my elbow!"

The boy glanced at Cameron, who was also writhing on the floor. He wasn't going to help someone who attacked a defenseless child such as Ethan, but he couldn't bear to watch him suffer any longer.

"Please help my brother!" Amy begged, grasping his arm. " _He,_ " she pointed to Ethan, "hit him with a baseball bat and now all his organs are going to fall out of his stomach!"

He blanched, even though the girl's words weren't strictly true. Each of these kids had suffered an injustice, and now it was on his shoulders to choose who needed more aid. Why was _he_ always the one who had to make the hard decisions?

The younger one was still shaking in his friend's arms, the bat resting on his shins. The other was heaving, pressing on his abdomen like he was trying to keep his intestines inside. That looked much more serious.

"Hey, I'm Beck Dean." He crouched next to the wine refrigerator, which was still humming. "What's your name?"

"C-Cameron," he answered, trembling. "And I think he broke my stomach open."

"You're going to have to move your hand for me to look."

When he did, Beck peered at Cameron's stomach. It was swollen and red, with several welts and something that looked like a laceration (if a laceration was what he thought it was; he'd never been much good at science). His skin was cool and clammy, despite the warm weather. Beck couldn't look it up, but it was pretty clear that _something_ was wrong. The only thing Beck's mother had ever done when he was in pain was give him Tylenol and elevate his feet, so he propped Cameron's legs on a chair and went to fetch the medicine. By the time he'd spotted the container in a bathroom cabinet and returned to the kitchen, Cameron's breathing had evened slightly and Ethan was screaming.

"Alright, alright. Can you bend your arm, kiddo?"

It was sign of how terribly Ethan was faring that he didn't even scoff at the pet name. Instead, he rapidly shook his head, his blue eyes wide with fear.

Gently, Beck took hold, trying to crease the boy's elbow from his wrist. When it proved quite impossible, he inhaled and nodded. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure that's a break, buddy. I can make you a sling, but I don't know how else to help."

Milo glared. "You didn't have to say that," he hissed.

Beck shrugged. "What do we have here other than honesty? Can you come with me to the bedroom and grab a sheet?" He could have gone by himself, but he disliked being alone when he could help it.

"Fine," Milo grumbled, patting Ethan on the head before getting to his feet and following Beck out of the room. He tossed Cameron's blankets to the floor and ripped the sheet off the bed. "Will this work?"

Beck inspected it. The fabric looked clean enough. "Sure. Go check whether he's got open cuts, and take off any jewelry."

"Don't you have to shave the person's arm hair before you give them a cast?"

"No idea. But this isn't a cast. Go on."

Milo jogged off while Beck folded the sheet diagonally, pinching the corners to be sure they lined up. Then he grabbed the ends and made his way back to where Ethan lay in wait. He draped one end over the kid's bad shoulder, fitted the other around his neck, and tied it. When he couldn't unearth a safety pin or stapler, he double-knotted the makeshift sling. "How does that feel? Any better?"

Ethan let his arm rest in the cotton folds. To his surprise, it lessened a bit of the pain. "Yeah. Thanks. Who are you?"

"I'm Beck." He smiled, then steeled himself for what he knew had to happen. "Now, are you both improved?"

"I guess," Ethan muttered.

Cameron, whose feet were still three feet above him, rolled his eyes. "No . . . I mostly just feel dizzy and sick. Is there a doctor here?"

"Right now, I'm the best doctor you're gonna get. I'm sorry, but you know we don't have unlimited resources right now."

"There has got to be some sort of prodigy here. Westchester is huge."

"Do you want me to scour the land until I find one? Or perhaps you'd like to do that instead? Or send your sister?"

Cameron sighed. "Okay. I get it. It . . . I just . . . it . . . it hurts so bad." And then he broke down in tears and there was no hope of coaxing out more words.

Beck looked at Amy. "Is he like this often?"

Amy bit her lip. "Yeah, he cries a lot. But I think he's actually in pain this time. It's not every day that someone gets beaten with a baseball bat. And his shoulder is all lumpy too."

"I don't know what to do, that's the thing," Beck said. "I can try to find someone, but what can we really do without surgery? Or without a healer?"

"A healer!" Amy exclaimed, straightening instantly. "I should have _thought_ of that! Of course!"

"What, are you one?"

Amy beamed. "Yeah!" And she placed her hand on her brother's chest. Beck crouched and again lifted the bottom of Cameron's shirt, watching in disbelief as the wounds slowly closed. Even the welts were beginning to sink. Just as the red was fading to pink, Amy yawned hugely and fell asleep, curling into a ball on the tile.

Cameron's tears were already drying. "Sick! I didn't know Ames could do that!"

"Surprise," Beck deadpanned, trying to slow his heartbeat. He couldn't believe those little idiots had him so freaked out about nothing. Now it really was time for his speech. "Look, both of you, fighting isn't okay. Just because we're in this bubble — "

"I call it the WAYS, actually," Ethan interjected. "It stands for the Westchester Area Youth Sector. Cool, right?"

"Yeah, great," Beck agreed. He actually did appreciate the term, but there were more important things to discuss. "Anyway, just because we're in this . . . WAYS . . . doesn't mean it's alright to just bust out the weapons whenever. That'll just make people think it's fine to steal their parents' guns and knives and chase others around with them. We're all kids here; we're not trying to hurt each other." When Cameron opened his mouth, Beck hurriedly added, "It doesn't matter who started it, or who's in the wrong. Romans 12:17 clearly states that we 'repay no one evil for evil, but give thought to do what is honorable in the sight of all.' Agreed?"

It was obvious that Cameron had something to say, but he choked it down. "Fair enough. Alright."

"Whatever. This is just the WAYS of the world now." Ethan laughed and nudged Milo with his good arm.

"You already used that one, dummy."

Beck coughed. "Ethan. This is serious. Now that you know how terrible it is to be in fights like these, you should tell the others that they shouldn't be arguing. 'Strive for peace with everyone,' says Hebrews 12:14. We — "

"Why don't you go make that speech in the town square?" Ethan quipped. "With the Bible verses and everything."

Beck wasn't about to break down in front of this rude twelve year old. Instead, he smiled quickly at Cameron, turned on his heel, and declared, "You know what? Everyone deserves to know about this, and about _your_ horrible attitude, Ethan. So I think I will."

Ethan turned to smirk incredulously at Milo, but his boyfriend wouldn't meet his eyes.

* * *

 **The first fight. It wasn't supposed to be extremely climatic or suspenseful, because it isn't anything major. But I hope you at least felt kind of nervous, since that's what I was aiming for: just a bit of discomfort.**

 **Tell me what you think about these new characters and about the story. The more quality reviews you leave, the better your characters will fare, and the more interesting their plot lines will be.**

 **By the way, I still do need just one more character. And you won't have to think as much as you did for other submissions, because I'll be giving a few specific guidelines. I need this person to fill a very specific role.**

 **Joyana**

 _ **( 9 / 17 / 2015 )**_


End file.
